Herbert Beeman
Some Adventures of Mr. Surelock Keys
eBook
(THE KERRISDALE KRONIKLE OFFICE Dec. 21, 2014)
, 1st Edition
Example in this ebook
I.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE STEVESTON CAR
One evening early in the month of November, 1908, we were sitting in our cosy rooms in Butcher Street. I was busy extending the notes I had made of some of the marvellous doings of the Great Detective, when Keys stretched his long arms towards the gramophone to start the gentleman who was "afraid to go home in the dark," off on another long explanation of his reasons, but I stopped him with a question—even friendship has its limits, you know:
"You saw the Eburne News of Saturday last, Keys, I suppose?" I said.
"You know nothing ever escapes me, Whenson," he replied.
I thought of the Tiger of San Pedro in Collier's and The Strand recently, but as it would be about as safe to rouse the tiger, I omitted the retort obvious.
"You refer to the penetration of the vitrified material by the leaden missile, I presume?" he said.
"Yes, the bullet from a .22 through the car window," I replied.
"Well, there was one peculiar thing about that case, but after all it was merely a matter of calculation. The shot was fired according to one account at Kerrisdale, and from another between Townsend and Eburne. That is easily accounted for. The shot struck the glass at the first named place, but so fast was the car travelling that it had proceeded two miles before the bullet reached the woodwork on the other side."
"Oh!" I said. When I had sufficiently recovered I asked him if he had discovered who fired the shot.
"That is a mere vulgar detail, Whenson," he said coldly, as he turned to start the gramophone again.
To be continue in this ebook
I.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE STEVESTON CAR
One evening early in the month of November, 1908, we were sitting in our cosy rooms in Butcher Street. I was busy extending the notes I had made of some of the marvellous doings of the Great Detective, when Keys stretched his long arms towards the gramophone to start the gentleman who was "afraid to go home in the dark," off on another long explanation of his reasons, but I stopped him with a question—even friendship has its limits, you know:
"You saw the Eburne News of Saturday last, Keys, I suppose?" I said.
"You know nothing ever escapes me, Whenson," he replied.
I thought of the Tiger of San Pedro in Collier's and The Strand recently, but as it would be about as safe to rouse the tiger, I omitted the retort obvious.
"You refer to the penetration of the vitrified material by the leaden missile, I presume?" he said.
"Yes, the bullet from a .22 through the car window," I replied.
"Well, there was one peculiar thing about that case, but after all it was merely a matter of calculation. The shot was fired according to one account at Kerrisdale, and from another between Townsend and Eburne. That is easily accounted for. The shot struck the glass at the first named place, but so fast was the car travelling that it had proceeded two miles before the bullet reached the woodwork on the other side."
"Oh!" I said. When I had sufficiently recovered I asked him if he had discovered who fired the shot.
"That is a mere vulgar detail, Whenson," he said coldly, as he turned to start the gramophone again.
To be continue in this ebook
- Pages
- 27